Written for the femslash100 community on LiveJournal for Challenge 554 - angel. (Using "angel" in the original sense of (divine) messenger.)

Varda's messenger glided through the night sky over Middle-earth, slipping between rays of starlight. Gradually, Ilmarë became aware that she was not alone; a shape cloaked in shadow flitted after her, hiding her movements in darkness.

Ilmarë stopped in her flight and called a name, one the other hadn't answered to for a very long time, since before the Sun and Moon first shone in the sky.

A moment of silence, and then Thuringwethil cast aside her cloak of shadow and flew out of hiding, her dark eyes flashing with anger. "Call me by my own name, or not at all!"

"That is your name," Ilmarë protested, but Thuringwethil darted at her, iron claws extended to rip and tear. Ilmarë dodged aside, and they wheeled around each other in a dizzying aerial combat.

Thuringwethil sought to wound, while Ilmarë sought to catch and hold her, as once they had held each other close in the brightness of Varda's starry halls. They were too well-matched; Ilmarë's grasping hand only slid off Thuringwethil's shoulder, and once the tip of Thuringwethil's claw scored a line across her cheek.

At last they paused for breath, perched in separate trees. "Come back with me," Ilmarë pleaded.

Thuringwethil licked a single drop of blood from her claw. "Come with me," she retorted, "cast off the Valar's shackles and gain the power you deserve."

Ilmarë shook her head. And then Thuringwethil was gone, vanishing back into shadow.

Alone, Ilmarë buried her face in her hands and wept.